


Live

by Pantherlily



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), UnDeadwood (Web Series)
Genre: Character Death, Implied Clayson, TW: Blood, UnDeadwood Mini-series (Critical Role), some gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 07:30:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21249686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pantherlily/pseuds/Pantherlily
Summary: This was inspired by the Undeadwood Discord Server based off a couple of headcanons some other folks came up with.The Bible was an extension of Mason. One of his most prized possessions. One day he gave it to Clayton and never got it back.





	Live

Mason wasn't sure why he had felt the need to give his Bible to Clayton. Maybe it had been God. It must have been. He didn't care it was damaged, just that Clayton was safe. The Bible had saved the gunslinger’s life, after it had been placed inside the pocket of the dark duster. The bullet that came for his life had been stopped by the thick book.

Still, the Doc had him resting in bed. The Reverend was sitting next to the gunslinger's bedside, staring at the other man in concern as he slept. A rustling behind caused him to turn. "Doc?" But it wasn't the man he was expecting to see. It was some stranger he didn’t recognize. There was a gun in his hand.

There was no fear as he stood up from his chair, putting himself between the sleeping Clayton and the gunmen. "Want to get to him, you'll have to go through me first." His voice was steady and held an edge that many don’t get to hear.

There was a hesitation in the stranger's eyes, like maybe he didn’t want to shoot a man of the cloth. But as steely resolve became evident, Mason went to draw one of Clayton's guns, but it was too late.

It hurt more than he thought it would. He didn't topple completely, but his knees did give out and he ended up on them. His hands were on the dirty wooden floor to help keep steady. Mason glanced to the Bible. "God keep him safe." He smiled, as the last of his life left him, ever so confident God would absolutely take his final request.

The gunshot immediately woke Clayton up. Though the bullet hadn't killed him, he had a cracked rib and bruising on his chest. It wasn’t the most pleasant feeling to wake up to by any means. He heard the Reverend's words and any fog that may have been in his mind upon first coming to vanished quickly. He didn't have time to mourn, as rage he had never felt before surged through his entire body.

With a quickness and grace no injured man should be capable of, he was out of bed and lunged at the startled and alarmed gunmen. He screamed his rage, as they tumbled and tossed in a fight. Eventually, the gunslinger was on top of the gunmen and punched him in the face with his bare hands, until he was physically incapable of continuing on. There was nothing left of the face of the stranger. With what little energy he had, he crawled to the Reverend's body.

Clayton wasn't sure how long he stayed with Mason's head in his lap until someone opened the door. He didn't have the energy or inclination to fight anymore. What would be the point anyway? He didn't even look up or even listen to whatever was said.

How long had someone been shaking his shoulder and talking to him? The gunslinger blinked through wet eyes and finally tore his gaze away from the now cold body in his hands. "Doc." His voice was rough and raw. When had he stopped screaming? He couldn't remember. It was all a slow-moving haze at this point. He stood, a little wobbly, his legs prickling with sensation from sitting too long.

Without even thinking he grabbed the Bible and left, despite the Doc trying to talk him into staying. "I need a drink," was the only explanation he gave. He was covered in blood, none of it his own except for maybe his very bruised and cut knuckles. A few people stare but his glare daring anyone to say anything have them looking away and moving along quickly.

Despite having said he needed a drink, Clayton headed to the church. He walked to the pulpit and dropped to his knees in front of it. For the first time in his life, he prayed. His eyes close, fingers white knuckled as he held the Bible tightly to his chest where the bullet should have killed him. "I ain't never done this before...but if you could take me instead of him, I'd be much obliged." There was no response, but he supposed he didn't figure there would be.

He was about to open his eyes and leave, when a warm wind blew through the church. Usually something unnatural like that would have set him on edge but instead it gave him comfort. "Matthew..." The words were barely audible, even to his own ears. He knew it was him, could feel it. The presence didn’t linger long, much to his dismay. He swore he heard the word "live" as the wind faded away.

Live....how...? His angry mind was reluctant to listen. A hand coming to rest on his shoulder startled him and his eyes finally opened. Miriam. He can't meet her eyes, but he felt a squeeze where her hand was laid upon him. Another hand rested on his other shoulder, Arabella. A hand on his back now, Aloysius. No words were spoken, they didn’t need to. 

Live. Dammit. Clayton couldn't very well refuse a dying man's request, now could he? He wouldn't be happy about it though, by God. They stayed in the church in silence for some time before he finally stood and gave them all a nod, then left to finally go get a much-needed drink.

The Bible. Clayton kept it. He thought about burying with the Reverend but in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to part with it. Months later he started to read it. Sometimes he swore the Reverend was there with him, smiling at him. It was battered but not broken, just like him.

No new preacher came to town, that was not until the most unlikely gunslinger walked to the church one Sunday morning with the Bible in his hand. There was no preacher like the one in Deadwood. His reputation was notorious but that was nothing new. People would still show up to hear his swearing sermons anyway. That's what the Reverend would have wanted.


End file.
